Ever since their return from Ultima Thule, the abyss Eithne had suppressed all these years began to pulse with life once again. It beckoned her, its dark tendrils soft and inviting, and she began to hear the whispers she had long thought silenced after felling Myste’s shades. Promises steeped in rancor, of a release sweeter than any nectar. It had been arrogant, foolish even, to believe she could have silenced its call forever, that she could abstain of its power forevermore. Indeed, though thoughts of Fray, of Sidurgu and Rielle, of Myste, weighed heavily in her mind throughout her journey, she found herself hesitating even then. Had she the foresight, she would have realized that it had only been the light, the selfsame one that threatened to shatter her soul, that had kept the abyss as nothing but a weak shade of what it truly was.

Her journey to the edge of creation, however, had given space to the dark. Finally, her mind was no longer consumed by thoughts of Hydaelyn, or light, or of senseless and all consuming sacrifice, and Fray found herself slipping through the cracks in Eithne’s defenses. It didn’t take long once they had returned to Old Sharlayan, for Eithne to seek within her satchel the stone she had so long avoided. A polished Soul Crystal, well-kept yet devoid of all luster, as if it consumed light itself. At the first touch, she heard the familiar words, the cry from her soul whose echoes had reverberated to this day—

Serve... Save... Slave... Slay

With it, came a different voice, one wholly her own, yet separate.

Have you come to accept the truth, Eithne?

The first night in the Baldesion Annex after she entreated with the dark arts could not be described as anything but infernal. Hydaelyn’s Champion, succumbing to exhaustion, found that there was no gentle repose awaiting her. Fray’s voice reverberated, the rage, the anguish beginning to suffuse itself throughout her veins. The darkness behind her eyelids slowly consumed all of her thoughts, until—

You know I’m trying to help you, don’t you? All of this is for YOUR benefit.

Blinking slowly, she found herself in a room of varnished marble, now set aflame with sunset’s amber light. It was cold, a chill so familiar she didn’t question it, the same cold that had found a home in her bones long ago. She had carried it throughout the star, across the cosmos, until the very end. Ishgard , she thought. Though her mind was addled, thoughts blanketed by a thick fog, she could have never mistaken those halls for anything else, the Vault ... Suddenly, there was a light clink of chainmail against plate, and the mists clouding her mind dissipated in an instant. In her vision, she saw a hand extended towards her, and the voice that followed rang clear, its warmth reverberating through her body.

“Are you alright, my friend?”

████ . His presence was all but natural, seeing as they had come to seize Thordan together, and yet Eithne could weep at the sight of him. The swell of emotion must have been plain on her features, because his smile hardened, the light in his eyes now darkened by fear.

“A-Are you wounded?! Quick, Alphinaud!”

“N-No...!” She choked out, barely able to breath, grasping his hand before he moved it away. The touch caused levin to course through her spine, though she refused to flinch. Forcing her stiffened limbs to move, she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, her free hand clenched around her ████ . She remembers now, it was the weapon she had used back when she had stormed the Tribunal. The same one the man before her had eyed with concern, when she was inevitably questioned on her actions by Aymeric.

She took deep breaths, willing her lungs to work, for the darkness clouding her vision to vanish. The pressure in her chest was unbearable, the crushing weight a promise of the horrors that surely awaited her around the corner. Each sensation brings with it a modicum of clarity, and she remembers now that she had always felt this way back in Ishgard, overwhelming fear shadowing her every footstep. It takes her a moment to adjust, to remember how to harden her heart against it, to focus her mind on one sole task in order to silence the unease. She couldn’t stop here, she had to swing her ████ , she must ████ them.

Once the palpitations slow, she realizes she is still holding onto his hand, her grip tight and unforgiving, but the eyes looking down on her are filled with nothing but concern, a tenderness as soft as those blankets of warm fleece, back when... She lets go of him as Alphinaud begins to fuss over her, examining every ilm of her appearance for any sign of harm. Sheathing her ████ behind her back, she puts her palms up in an apologetic motion at the two of them, and begins to jog deeper into the Vault.

The Vault is at once new, and also deeply familiar. Although her heart has ceased to throb, she cannot shake off the dread that has pooled in her stomach. She looks back constantly at ████, her fearful eyes giving him pause each time, before he returns her gaze with a smile so serene it could have only come from Halone herself. How he did not feel the same fear was beyond her. How could they continue onwards? Could they not feel this sense of foreboding, the all-consuming evil waiting at the end of these halls?

Fray knows you cannot continue to carry all these burdens.

It is not long until they overcome the last of the Heaven’s Ward. Reunited with Aymeric, his body frail, weakened by his imprisonment, Eithne can feel the rumble of rage roiling within her heighten to a fever pitch.

A fool to the last, Thordan sighs, but the words reverberate with the thrum of energies far darker, and Eithne feels that were he to turn around to face them, she would see eyes of piercing gold. The fury she feels is almost enough to drown out the dread, having now coiled itself so tightly around her heart, and one glance at ████, his jaw set with determination, is all that she needs to act upon it. Without a thought, her feet launch her forward, the path before one she feels she was destined to tread—

“Look out!”

Indeed, the scene to follow was all too familiar, and Eithne becomes keenly aware that this had not been the first time she had come here. He had always been destined to fall, the lance of Light slicing her beloved in twain having found its mark years ago. Yet the realization that the man laying upon the marble floor was nothing but a shade, the spreading crimson underneath him nothing but a trickery of the mind, did nothing to dull the pain. The wound across her heart felt as fresh as the day it happened, as if the spear had managed to pierce her, too. The anguish leads to understanding leads to fire and flame and suddenly, darkest despair.

There is nothing she can do, no magick, no art that could mend the wound. The ████ in her grasp was more worthless than dirt, just like it had been in Ul’dah, just like Rhalgar’s Reach, just like— She sees him propped up, his voice rough and tainted by the blood filling his throat, its gentle warmth quickly fading,

“F-Forgive me... I could not bear the thought of... of...”

Eithne knows the words yet to come by heart, but cannot bear to hear them. His final wish, the one that had haunted her without reprieve. How could she, how could she smile... how could she face him, knowing all she had done, all she had failed to do. That the burdens had taken their toll, that she would never again be the hero he had loved so deeply. She hears Fray’s familiar voice behind her, next to her, in front of her. You need me! YOU NEED ME! She looks down at her hands and sees blood, her ████ covered in blood, the ground, the sky, crimson all around her! She cannot escape it, and before her vision is suffused with the same red—

The scream to follow is harrowing, ancient, primal. It rips through her body, so powerful that reality itself seems to shatter.

Then suddenly, darkness.

Eithne’s body lurches upwards, almost convulsing as she struggled to breathe. She felt danger all around her, her nerves like exposed wire, crackling. Moving to grasp the dagger she always kept under her pillow, she felt as if the motion was both hers and another’s. She feels for the well-worn leather handle, and raises the blade, the glint of steel like a beacon in the darkness, until—

“Eithne, stop this!”

She feels a warm hand grasping her raised wrist, then another on her shoulder, while her bed creaked under the new weight of a second body. Gasping, sense returning to her instantly, Eithne felt her body becoming her own once again. Her hair sticking to her damp forehead, the shallow, ragged panting, the ache in her chest, she felt it all. Looking up to meet eyes of crimson, she feels the prick of panic in her heart for an instant— before true realization sets in, and tears begin to fall unbidden.

As the dagger falls from her hand, she feels his arms wrapping gently around her. Taut, muscular things, holding her as if she were made of brittle glass, their warmth making Ishgard’s cold fade fast into distant memory.

“Haurchefant!” His name escapes her, the first time she had said it in earnest, without hardening her heart to stone, since their time together in Ishgard. “It should’ve been me... It was supposed to be me...”

She cannot stop the sobs, the grief she had tried to suffocate all these years eager to escape, the wails wracking through her body with wild abandon. For so long she had held strong, held the tears at bay, told herself that it was better to be numb than be afflicted by sorrow. Were she to become a dulled blade, she would be cast to the wayside! She was the Warrior of Light! Our Weapon of Light! Her thoughts meld with echoes of a distant memory, and the sight of Esteem appears in her mind. Oh, how often had she wished to forget their encounter, and now...

Fray was right, Fray is always right.

Through her cries, she hears his voice, so so gentle, a slight tremble the only sign that he, too, cried alongside her. She felt his hand combing through her matted hair, his palm rubbing the small of her back, until, slowly, the tears subsided. Once the quiet had returned to her room, once her mind was fully in the present, it was only then that G’raha Tia slowly peeled himself off of her. He moved the dagger to her bedside table, before wrapping her in one of the blankets strewn about the floor. His hands, soft and loving, moved to gently wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Can you wait a moment for me? It will not take long.” He whispers to her, and Eithne can only nod weakly, avoiding his gaze. He places a hand on hers, making her realize she has been clutching the Soul Crystal with an iron grip all this time, before hurrying outside her room. She attempts to inspect the precious gem in her palm, but it is inscrutable in the darkness, only its weight and a dull pain letting her know that it was there, before she hears hushed whispers out in the hallway.

Right, there were others in the Annex...

It doesn’t take long before G’raha Tia returns. She still cannot bring herself to look up at him, though there is a new glow coming from the doorway, and she can see candlelight casting his shadow across the floor. She follows him via sound, the door closing behind him, the shuffle of his footsteps, the way the bed creaked once more as he sat down beside her. From her peripheral she can see his hand reaching for hers, before recoiling, and it is only then that she realizes the liquid pooling in her palm, around the Soul Crystal, and dripping onto the sheet below it. She can hear a sharp intake of breath, but there are no words that follow.

Instead, there is only the sound of cloth ripping, before the stone is carefully taken from her and wrapped in a scrap of fabric. Her heart stirs, and she feels as if she still needs it, for what is to come, the questions which G’raha will inevitably ask, but she cannot bring herself to complain. He quickly begins administering first aid, and from the corner of her eye she can see his pained smile.

“Nothing to worry about, it is not a deep wound.” He sounds calm, his tone measured, and the guilt it brought felt so sharp it could slice her heart in two.

“G’raha.” She whispers, her voice raspier than she remembers it to be, “I’m sorry.”

He only pauses his ministrations for an instant, but it is enough for her to notice. “You have nothing to apologize for, my friend. You, out of all of us, have suffered the most from our journey. ‘tis only,” there is a crack in his voice, but he continues, “‘tis only human.”

“No, that’s not...” She cannot find the words, and the few that she manages to grasp get stuck in her throat, so raw and strained as it was. But, she knew she would regret it, if she didn’t try.

“I shouldn’t have said it. That it... It s-should’ve been me... After all that everyone, all that you have done for me, I am the one... I am the one who should feel most grateful—”

He ties a knot on the bandage around her palm, careful to avoid undue pressure, before his hands brush away some of the tears now welling again in her eyes. Finally, she cannot avert her gaze any longer, and she looks directly into those eyes of deepest scarlet, Fray’s voice echoing in the distance.

They have borne witness to the darkness within us... To what lies behind the mask...

She hadn’t known what to expect, but looking at him now she felt foolish for thinking he could look at her in any other way. Full of reverence, of love, a warmth like springtime. There had not been a time she could remember where his eyes looked any different, as she leafed through her memories: G’raha as the doors of the Crystal Tower closed in on him, G’raha taking in her Light-riddled aether unto himself, G’raha smiling as he held out his fist at the edge of creation.

“Eithne...” His voice comes low, her name more akin to prayer than proper noun, and she can only wait in silence for him to continue. He gently cradles her bandaged hand in his, and she cannot possibly imagine what he could be thinking at this moment.

“To feel something, may not necessarily equate to it being true.” He enunciates each word carefully, though she cannot tell if it is for her sake, or his. “Our darkest thoughts, the feelings that spring from the shadows— these are things we cannot control, feelings born from anguish, and grief, and sometimes even love.”

“Yet, man is a creature of reason, possessed of not just instinct, but conscious thought. It is what we choose to do with our emotions that define who we are, and what we believe in.” His smile is unwavering, and suddenly Eithne feels as if he is once again the Exarch, a man wise beyond his years. His words are a balm against despair, the weight in the pit of her stomach becoming lighter, the pressure in her chest giving way.

“I have never once questioned your resolve to carry on, and I doubt that you could have withstood the trials you have, were your heart and mind not wholly devoted to doing just that.” Once again, the tears spill over, and G’raha leans in closer, his hand cupping her cheek. “My only concern is that you would suffer alone, that you’d push yourself beyond your limits. While you are strong, things can be easier, should you rely on those around you.”

“Know that you can come to us— come to me, if you are ever in need of support.” Their foreheads touch, and Eithne closes her eyes, the scent of cypress and lilac, of spilled ink, calming her nerves. “Was it not in this very room, where I had already offered as much?”

Finally, Eithne exhales.

Though her limbs feel awkward, clumsy, the motion wholly unfamiliar to her at this point, she pulls him towards her in an embrace. She cannot help but notice how he tenses, hesitating, before wrapping his arms around her, and the sense of comfort it brings her is enough to banish the last dredges of fear.